Better to Burn
by No.13Baby
Summary: Umm, there’s Luka, there’s Abby, there’s lots of thoughtful introspection, self-reform, and not-so-subtle symbology. Slightly abstract. Set in season 8.
1. You in the Dark

Title: Better to Burn

Summary: Umm, there's Luka, there's Abby, there's lots of thoughtful introspection, self-reform, and not-so-subtle symbology. Slightly abstract. Set in season 8.

Spoilers: Till mid- season 8… I'm confident you've all gotten that far already. After that it's pretty AU.

Archive: I dunno… ask first. 

Disclaimer: I'm not that pretty and I'm not that special, so please don't sue. I'm not that wealthy either (they're not mine.)

Reviews: Please! Flame if you want- I don't care. I'd really appreciate your input though. Feel free to email me… I promise I'll try to respond!

A/N: Wow, I never thought I'd write one of these. I got the title of the story from Kurt Cobain's suicide note (yeah, I know, but it fit) and the title of the chapter from Bush's "Letting the Cables Sleep" (good Luka/ Abby song.) Uhm, I didn't want to post this until I knew I could finish, but patience is not one of my merits, so here it is. And who knows, maybe everyone will hate it anyways. Feel free to email me if you want to discuss anything. Thanks! 

P.S. Sorry if the spacing looks odd at places… I kept trying to fix it but something weird is going on…

Ch. 1: You in the Dark 

"It's just, I uh…"

She broke in quietly, her forehead wrinkled with concern as she peered up at him through slightly squinted eyes, as if wincing in apology for her words. "Miss your kids?"

The action, though, was smooth and sure, natural. It always was. Luka smiled slightly as she took his hand. "Yeah," he breathed. 

"I'm sorry." 

He looked down as she said it, down at their hands clasped together. He knew she meant it. "It's sort of worse at Christmas," he admitted as if for the first time; as if to himself.

     He savored the warmth of her hand a moment longer and was reminded of how much he used to love the warm smoothness of his children's skin. Of how he used to allow himself just a bit longer beside their beds at night after they had fallen asleep as babies to stroke their soft, almost bald heads. It was a softness that could only exist in ignorance of war. 

     Abby watched Luka's retreating figure for a moment after he broke contact, his movements purposeful and stoic as he made his way back to his rounds. 

_His eyes, though_… Abby shook her head turned away. She was reminded of the first time she went to his hotel room. He had looked at her that night- dejected, searching, as if he were hanging onto life by a thread, allowing himself one silent plea for help, only to her, before he admitted his defeat and let go.__

In the end she hadn't been able to save him, and in his eyes tonight she saw him resigned to defeat. 

******

     Luka had lost. Everything. He had lost his home, his family, and his illusions in one violent jolt as they were torn from him that day in Vukovar. Arriving in America, starting over, he had hoped to find something: shelter certainly, perhaps even hope that life could once again be something more than an empty, hollow exercise filled with pain, loss, and grief. 

     He had thought he had nothing left to lose, but what he found was his already tenuous grip on reality fading more and more every day. Meaningful human relationships were a memory to Luka. He could not reconcile himself with the denial that Americans wrapped themselves in, surrounding themselves with beauty, seemingly obsessed with a drive to create a bubble of comforts that would expel anything unpleasant from tainting their ideal vision. It made him ill listening to people discuss inconsequential things and events as if they were of the utmost importance. He could not fathom how people could waste time worrying about trivialities while ignoring the horrors that so many others witness every day: that _he_ had witnessed.

     And then he had found her. Not all at once- in fact in such minute degrees that he often wondered if he was indeed gradually gaining an understanding of her or simply a realisation that it was what he did not and probably would never know about her that made her dark beauty so tangible to him that he had finally allowed himself to reach out and claim it. Either way, he knew that that part of her would always be his—the part of her that made him feel as if he were staring at the night sky, trying to understand it, only to come away feeling that he knew less than he would have had he not let himself wonder at all. It was impossibly frustrating, and it was utterly intoxicating.

A/N: This chapter starts, as all good little Lubies will probably know, with "I'll be Home for Christmas." I hope the fact that it's not verbatim doesn't bother people too much. 


	2. Came Here By Day

Title: Better to Burn

Summary: Umm, there's Luka, there's Abby, there's lots of thoughtful introspection, self-reform, and not-so-subtle symbology. Slightly abstract. Set in season 8.

Spoilers: Till mid- season 8… I'm confident you've all gotten that far already. After that it's pretty AU.

Archive: I dunno… ask first. 

Disclaimer: I'm not that pretty and I'm not that special, so please don't sue. I'm not that wealthy either (they're not mine.)

Reviews: I would be eternally grateful.

A/N: I forgot to mention in Ch. 1 that I took Luka's "empty, hollow exercise" analogy from his impromptu oral commentary on Beckett's Waiting for Godot in "Secrets and Lies." 

Ch. 2: Came Here By Day 

     'This,' thought Abby as she approached the familiar apartment door, 'is probably a bad idea.' She knocked anyway. 

     Surprise flickered across Luka's features as he opened the door to reveal a December-flushed Abby, a self-conscious smile tugging at the corners of her lips. 

"Hey."

He stepped back to let her in. "Abby…" 

     She shifted uncomfortably in her winter coat and looked up at him hesitantly. 

"I was just… I just came to say… Merry Christmas." That smirk again, sarcastic, self-deprecating, and charming with its unexpected, subtle timidity. Luka couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle as he gazed at the woman in front of him, her small frame swallowed up by the huge winter coat and thick scarf and hat. 

"Here, let me take your coat," he offered as he approached her. "Would you… like some cider? Or something?" 

     Abby took a breath, glanced over her shoulder at the closed door, and turned back. "Um, sure."

     Neither spoke again until they were comfortably seated on opposite sides of the sofa, hot cider in hand. Abby fingered the rim of her mug nervously before breaking the silence: "Are you ok?"

     Her voice was hesitant, but when she raised her eyes to meet his, they were steady, her gaze capturing him with such determined sincerity that the automatic "fine" died on his lips, and he let a sigh escape before responding, "Yeah… I mean, you know."

"Yeah." He knew that, in a way, she did. Her gaze dropped once more. 

"So, you're not going home again for Christmas?" The question was conversational, but her tone retained its previous concern. 

     Luka shook his head and paused, then: "There's really not much there for me anymore. My father… but other than that, ghosts."

     He said it casually, quietly. Abby flushed and closed her eyes tightly against the sight of the hot drink in her now slightly shaking hands. 

"Luka, I'm sorry." She raised her head but avoided looking at him directly. His expression, though, was gentle— sad, but not at all acerbic. 

"I know," he said quietly. "Don't be. I'm sorry too."

Abby nodded. "I know."

     The silence that followed was refreshingly harmonious, and by the time Luka leaned over to place his empty mug on the coffee table, Abby felt considerably more at ease. As Luka leaned back onto the couch he spoke: "Actually, I am leaving… for Bosnia, in a couple of days." Abby raised her eyebrows but didn't respond, so he elaborated. "With Médecins Sans Frontières. The infrastructure there is still weak, and they needed some extra help…" His voice was monotone; it was an explanation, a recitation, yet when he looked at her she could see how restless he was, how lost. "I just need to get away. I need to do something."

     Abby was oddly taken aback. Not because Luka was leaving, but because it was a step he had taken proactively for himself. He knew he had to get away, and he had decided to leave; and yet she sensed that this was not a retreat. This was not the man who shut himself away from her in his hotel room. On the contrary, Luka would be in a place that Abby knew would force him to live life as she imagined he once had— facing it head on through whatever pain, tragedy, or triumph it had to offer. Suddenly, Abby became keenly aware of the barrier that she had so meticulously constructed around herself over the years, the filter through which she was able to control what she took from life and what she gave back. She relied on it; she needed to have that control, and yet all of a sudden she began to feel its enormous weight. 

     Luka nudged her questioningly after studying her reaction. "You look like you don't like the idea."

"No, I…" 

"What?" he prodded. 

And for the first time in months, Abby's smile was genuine- unchecked and happy. "I think it's wonderful."

A/N: I do realise that MSF requires a minimum 6 month commitment, but I'm trying to make this particular situation approximate to what actually happened on the show in Season 8 (obvious major tweakage aside, of course.) I'm almost positive that Luka specifically said he was going through MSF, but I don't have a copy of "Beyond Repair" (which is where I think he explained it to Abby,) so I can't be sure. In any case, I know he wasn't gone for 6 months off the show, so that's good enough for me. He won't be gone that long here either.  


	3. No Corner

Title: Better to Burn

Summary: Umm, there's Luka, there's Abby, there's lots of thoughtful introspection, self-reform, and not-so-subtle symbology. Slightly abstract. Set in season 8.

Spoilers: Till mid- season 8… I'm confident you've all gotten that far already. After that it's pretty AU.

Disclaimer: I'm not that pretty and I'm not that special, so please don't sue. I'm not that wealthy either (they're not mine.)

Reviews: I would be eternally grateful.

Ch. 3: No Corner

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"You cannot find peace by avoiding life, Leonard."

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     It was the same dream every time. Hands bound—but that was her own doing. The water below was murky. Heart pounding, it wasn't the water that she feared, not the end. She knew what was in it, but from above she couldn't see. She never took the last step. Never fell in. 

Abby awoke peacefully.  

     After mentally weighing the merits of sleep versus wage-earning for a couple of minutes, (her unpaid phone bill, to her acute displeasure, finally shifting favour towards the latter,) she threw off her covers and made her way to the shower without giving the nightly escapades of her subconscious a second thought. 

     As the sound of running water filled the bathroom, Abby closed her eyes and let her mind go blank, the soft massage of warm water on her back inviting her into oblivion. By the time she reopened her eyes, her vision was made hazy by steam. Abby watched as drops of water streaked the door of her shower stall, liked how the mottled glass made everything blurry, as if the world were someone's vision through tears. 

     No, thought Abby. Not tears. A painting— watercolour. Soft edges, colours melting together, inexact shapes. What lay beyond its frame, unseen, was only to be imagined. Possibility— Abby was comfortable with possibility; much less so with realisation. In her experience, realisation was more often than not synonymous with disappointment. 

     Recently, however, she had not been able to shake the memory of Luka's resolve from the back of her mind. He had known loss, she knew, and disappointment, of which she herself was probably not the least. And yet he sought out life rather than trying to protect himself from it. It was a revelation that held Abby strangely aghast at this man who had shared his bed with her for almost a year. 

     It occurred to her that Luka would be due home soon. It had been almost a month since he'd left; Christmas had turned into New Years, New Years to her birthday, and her birthday to the promise of three more dreary weeks of a Chicago January. She found herself impatient for his return, knowing that he probably wouldn't elaborate much on his experiences, but nonetheless becoming uncharacteristically anxious to take a peek— (just a peek, mind you)— at what lay beyond the picture frame. 

******

"Your boyfriend's asking for you."

Abby looked up from the chart that had just been carelessly shoved in front of her face. 

"What?"

"Creepy guy in One?" Chuny grinned. "Needs his nurse. He's all yours."

     Abby rolled her eyes and sighed. "Right, thanks." Why she hadn't chosen to go for the accounting degree was, at the moment, beyond her. 

"Hey Abby, code brown in Exam 3. And Mrs. Wright in Curtain 2 needs more emesis basins."

In fact, 15th Century Russian Feudal Studies was beginning to sound more and more appealing…

     "You're back," Mr. Kell, 41, 160 Pounds, No History of Head Trauma greeted Abby dully as she stepped into Exam 1. He indicated his hospital gown. "I changed into this thing a half an hour ago." His voice was monotone, his eyes droopy. 

"Sorry. Did the acetaminophen help?" 

"A little, I guess." Man, this guy was depressing. Abby looked up as Carter entered the room. 

"You're really beautiful."  The dreary voice called Abby's attention back to her patient. "What?" She shook her head. "Oh, thanks."

      She smiled at Carter. "Mr. Kell complains of constant headache pain- started about a week ago." 

Carter smiled back, amused. "Hi Mr. Kell, I'm Dr. Carter…"

     Ten minutes later, Carter caught up to Abby as she exited Mr. Kell's room. "Making new friends?" 

"Shut up, Carter." 

"No, no— I really thought I saw something there." 

Abby was now laughing out loud at his crooked grin. "You know, maybe I need to remind you of a certain Miss McDuffy?"

     Carter held up his hands in mock defeat. "Point taken." Still grinning, he grabbed another chart and studied it briefly. "Aaahhh, 'I think I have the crabs, and it itches bad.'" He smirked. "See you later, Abby." 

     Abby glanced at the board; things seemed to be winding down a bit. She took a deep breath. She could do this… only— she glanced at her watch— _six _more hours left?? She exhaled and leaned on the admin desk, trying to rub the fatigue from her eyes.

"Coffee?" 

Abby looked up from the Styrofoam cup that was suddenly being held out in front of her. "Luka!"

Luka smiled as she took the cup of weak lounge coffee gratefully. "You look like you need a boost."

"I'll say. So, you're back." Very good, Abby. Excellent deduction. 

"Yep. Got in last night." 

 "I was getting worried; I thought I'd at least get a post card." 

"You need to get email."

Abby looked around wearily. "Didn't take you long to get sucked back into this insanity."

"Nope… It's good to see you though." 

His expression was calm, sincere, and clearer than Abby had seen it in a long time. She smiled up at him. "You too."

"I…" 

     "Dr. Kovac," Gallant broke in hesitantly and was now standing uncertainly a few yards away. He approached as Luka gave him his attention. "I have a 52 year old man with mild chest pain in Exam 2. Could you help me rule out MI?" 

"Sure." Luka turned back to Abby. "See you." 

     She nodded, finding it difficult to believe that this was the same man whom she had left one month earlier, after a warm but brief embrace and a simple goodbye, looking utterly defeated, startlingly unalive. Now, it was the clarity in his eyes that was startling. She had seen that expression before, once or twice perhaps, after making love to him. At the time it had irritated her, but now she found it vaguely stimulating, intriguing. 

     "Luka!" He turned around as she caught up to him in the hallway. "I was just thinking, if you want, I could take you out for coffee or something later. You could tell me about your trip…"

Luka ran his fingers through his hair, looking slightly surprised.

"It's not a big deal; I know you're probably jet-lagged." 

"No, uh, I was going to get some dinner later probably… at Magoo's, around 7? You could join me."

Abby blinked, then nodded. "Magoo's is good."  

"Ok."

"Ok." 

A pause. Then Luka smiled and reached out to touch her arm lightly. "See you then." He disappeared through the exam room door. 

****** 

     Abby was late to dinner. She spotted Luka sitting in a corner booth from across the diner and hurried over, her expression apologetic. 

"You're still here."

His smile was amicable. "Of course… I have to eat."

"Sorry I'm late," she said as she slid into the seat across from him. "Just, kept getting roped in, you know."

     Luka waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it. Food's not even here yet."

"Mmmm, food," she murmured as she picked up a menu. 

     After placing her order, Abby settled back into her seat. "So…"

"So." 

     There was a moment's pause as Abby poked at the ice cubes in her water, then stopped and focused again on Luka. "Good trip?"

     Luka leaned forward slightly and thought for a moment, then started hesitantly.

"It was… good. Good for me. It's different there, the developing world. Not just culture, geography— those things are nominal. It's… the soul of the place. Of the people. Life doesn't wait; it's not cushioned like it is here. There's nothing separating you from each and every day." He glanced up uncertainly and then continued. "It's as if… you've descended a bit farther towards the core of what it is to be alive. Things tend to be more raw—emotions, experiences. And it's not just the harsh side of existence… it's everything. Pain and grief as well as joy and celebration." He glanced up again, and this time his focus remained on her. "It's just that, sometimes, here, this place… it can be a bit too contrived, too numbing. I just need to remind myself of life, of me."

     Abby's food was starting to get cold. She didn't notice. She swallowed and wondered why it seemed to take forever to find her voice and why, when it did come, it sounded far away and breathless. 

"Didn't it hurt?"

Luka's response was immediate.

"Yes."

******

     That dream again. The familiar panic growing as she inched closer to the muddy pond that surrounded the rock on which she stood, dry, safe… she could stay there as long as she wanted to. The terror was blinding as she took yet another step forward. Closed her eyes. Fell in. 

     Abby awoke with a violent jolt, a scream caught in the back of her throat, sheets soaked with a cold sweat. Her breath was loud in her ears as she lay paralyzed in her bed, waiting for her heart to stop pounding painfully in her chest. 

     "Shit," she hissed, as soon as she was able to pull herself out of bed. Wrapping a blanket around her shoulders, she headed to the bathroom. Warm water was soothing as it ran over shaking hands and splashed across her face. When she reopened her eyes, however, she found her reflection grotesque and imposing. Red eyes, dark circles, tangled hair… it was so disturbingly clear that some of the terror returned. Abby wrapped the blanket tighter around her body and turned away. 

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                  "To look life in the face, always, to look life in the face, and to know it for what it is. At last to know it, to love it, for what it is, and then, to put it away."

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A/N: The beginning and ending quotes of this chapter are delivered by Virginia Woolf in The Hours, a great book by Michael Cunningham as well as a great movie. Luka and Abby's initial dialogue (sans coffee) is from "A Simple Twist of Fate," and Carter's crabs patient is courtesy of Dr. Lewis (I heart her) in "Tell Me Where it Hurts," I think. Also, please forgive medical inaccuracies! i.e. I have no idea if a med student would need an attending to help r/o MI, but apparently in my world they would.


	4. Hunting Zombies

Title: Better to Burn

Summary: Umm, there's Luka, there's Abby, there's lots of thoughtful introspection, self-reform, and not-so-subtle symbology. Slightly abstract. Set in season 8.

Spoilers: Till mid- season 8… I'm confident you've all gotten that far already. After that it's pretty AU. 

Disclaimer: I'm not that pretty and I'm not that special, so please don't sue

Reviews: Well, you seem to have me figured out, so I'll go ahead and confess: Carter and Abby are not going to profess their love for one another and ride off into the sunset. But that doesn't mean I don't deserve feedback! Please?? Thank you so much to my reviewers. 

A/N: Hoping my next chapter is better than this one.

Ch. 4: Hunting Zombies 

     If Luka had been surprised by her interest, he was floored by her reaction, baffled by the jumbled array of emotions that had flashed without reserve across her face at dinner that night and during their silent walk home. When he had bid her goodnight outside her door, she had seemed almost surprised to find that he was still there. Now, almost two weeks later, Luka was growing accustomed to the change in her expression each time he bumped into her at work or stopped to chat with her in the lounge. She would look up sharply, as if startled every time, smile, exchange pleasantries, and hurry away. Her eyes always wore the same indefinable expression: pained, tentative… and imbued with such an intense tenderness that it almost took his breath away. 

"Long shift?"

There it was.

"Luka… Um, not too bad." 

Silence as she pulled on her coat and closed her locker. "Well, see you."

Luka nodded, absently stirring the last of his coffee as she headed towards the door.

"Abby."

She turned to face him but remained silent. 

"Do you need a lift? I'll be ready to leave in five minutes."

"No, it's ok. I was just going to take the El."

"It's not a problem, just let me pass these charts on to Dr. Lewis." 

Abby lowered her head and smiled. 

"I'll see you tomorrow, Luka."

He said nothing as she turned to leave. 

"Thank you."

The door swung shut behind her. 

******

     She could, she reasoned as she sat cross-legged and pyjama-clad on her sofa, relocate to the suburbs, buy a cat, and faithfully attend Monday night bingo sessions at the local JCC. Abby allowed herself a self-satisfied smirk. Yes, she could definitely get more pathetic— she took a long drag of her cigarette and rolled her eyes— but not much more. She mashed the half-finished cigarette into her ashtray with undue violence and brought her knees up to her chest. 

     He was getting to her. In his unassuming way— the quiet observance, the kind gestures, the softness in his voice… It was all getting to her, and she was considerably annoyed to find that she did not want to resist. 

Annoyed… and scared shitless.

     That night at the diner she knew, as clearly as she believed she could know anything, that if she asked him to tell her—of his life, his past, of him—he would have.

     What scared her most of all was no longer how he would answer; it was her aching desire to ask. 

_"I just need to remind myself of life, of me." _

'Bastard,' she thought. He made it sound so simple.

_"Didn't it hurt?"_

_"Yes." _

He hadn't even flinched. As if letting go, as if making yourself vulnerable, as if _feeling_ were the easiest and most natural things to do in the world. Well, she wouldn't do it. She couldn't. 'Bastard!' she thought again. 

     She picked up the phone and called Maggie.

*******

It wasn't a reconciliation. 

     There was something about Medicated Maggie that gave Abby a bittersweet sensation, a lump in the back of her throat and a mild burning behind her eyes. She felt ungrateful for not fully appreciating it, and she desperately feared losing it, but this return to "normalcy" always seemed a mere shadow of her real mother, making the reality of what she had grown up with even more daunting in the comparison. It set her on edge, and Abby had had to resist the temptation to keep her responses to Maggie's motherly inquiries and sunny chatter to her usual distant monosyllables.  She wanted badly to endure 15 minutes of polite conversation, make an excuse to hang up, and congratulate herself on having fulfilled her filial telephone duties for at least the next three months.

Instead, she had dropped a bomb. 

"Why did Dad leave us?" 

_He couldn't handle it. You drove him away! _

There had been a stunned silence.

_Did he even love me and Eric?_

"Abby…" __

_Please, please tell me it wasn't my fault. _

     And it had started. Anger swelling, choking her, the familiar headache starting to pound its way through her skull. She was used to all of it by now: the halting explanations, then the justification, then the desperate pleas for understanding…

This time Abby didn't hang up. 

…The apologies. 

"Abby, I never, never wanted to hurt you." 

_A scoff, a caustic remark. 'Too late for that.'_

"Well you did, Mom. You hurt me a lot— and I don't think you ever really tried not to."

She hadn't noticed the tears.

It wasn't a reconciliation, but Abby hadn't hung up. 

*******

     Luka didn't know where the idea had come from, and he still wasn't entirely convinced that it was a good one. But he had gone with it, and now here he was, breathless, a silent Abby at his side. He was relieved when she finally stopped her steady jog and turned to lean on the railing overlooking the river. 

     When he had called her two hours earlier with the vague proposal that they "do something," he had been surprised by the eagerness with which she had accepted. She needed a run, she had said, and did he want to join her? So he had. 

     Abby remained quiet for a long while as they stood there, and Luka did nothing to break the silence, only studied her profile out of the corner of his eye. When she finally spoke, she kept her gaze towards the river. 

"I talked to my mom earlier."

Luka now turned to face her and awaited more. She glanced at him briefly. 

"She asked about you."

He raised his eyebrows slightly. "How is she doing?"

Abby shrugged. "Great… she's doing really well."

"That's good."

"Yeah, I guess it is."

Luka waited. 

     "It's just… you know, she's so consistently inconsistent that I can't even tell if this is normal anymore. And as much as I want to believe that this is really her and that that person she turns into sometimes is just some crazy alter-ego, I can't. It's all just her. And… I love her. Which is frustrating because I have no idea who the hell that is." She let out a short, bitter laugh, then added quietly, as an afterthought: "I think that's why my dad left."

      Luka shifted his focus from Abby to the river, then back again. He leaned in towards her slightly and spoke gently, as if fearful of alarming her. "She's your mother."

     Abby made no response at first, then turned to him, her eyes impenetrable. 

     "My brother thinks I can't let it go because I like using her as an excuse for things not going my way." 

     "Well… maybe he is right." Luka offered his response tentatively.

     Abby snorted. "Yeah, well, my brother's a pain in the ass."

     Luka smiled but pressed on cautiously. "Maybe you would be happier if left your luggage at the door for a while and thought about doing what _you _really want."

     He watched as Abby's blank stare turned to one of amusement, her features melting into a crooked smirk. She began to shake her head slightly and let out a preliminary chortle.

     Luka was bewildered, but her expression was irresistible. He broke into a confused grin. "What?"

     Abby was now struggling to feign seriousness. "My luggage…" She repeated solemnly before a fresh peal of laughter escaped. 

     Luka nodded and began to laugh as well. He punched her arm playfully. "What?"

     "No, nothing." She grinned up at him and began to continue along their previous route, this time, Luka noted thankfully, only walking. 

     "Abby!" He followed her exasperatedly. 

     She laughed again. "Hurry up, Luka, you're buying me pizza."

A/N: Ok, I only like about 60% of this chapter. bleh. I suck at dialogue. Let me just comment on the whole Maggie issue. I'm not (surprise) particularly pleased with it, but I included it because I felt it was necessary, since Maggie really is at the base of a lot of Abby's insecurities and self-protective instincts, for Abby to independently decide to face what she knows will be an inflammatory situation with her mother. It's something that she doesn't want to deal with, but she forces herself to anyway. SO, what I'm saying is that it isn't the idea that I object to; it's my lack of talent and creative ability to carry it out effectively. Therefore, I apologize for my feeble efforts! (Also: If you want, you are welcome to take Abby's admissions about her mother to Luka as a sort of Abby-esque peace offering or apology to him, since, ya know, Abby's life wasn't the only one Maggie interrupted with her "visit" at the end of S7… But really, that's only if you want to.) Why I felt it necessary to write an interpretive essay on my own work, I don't know, but this author's note is unforgivably too long.


	5. Beloved

Title: Better to Burn

Spoilers: Till mid- season 8… I'm confident you've all gotten that far already. After that it's pretty AU.

Disclaimer: I'm not that pretty and I'm not that special, so please don't sue

Reviews: They make me so happy. Thank you to everyone! 

A/N: I added my lj link to my profile for those of you who might care to check on my status occasionally. I will also most likely post justification of parts of my writing that I think are weak, just because I am not a very secure person. Otherwise, it's not that interesting! The beginning and ending quotes are from Toni Morrison's _Beloved-- _I have a couple other allusions to that work in the chapter as well.

To W.C. - for stealing my quote, putting up with my bitching, and just for being a first-class fellow asshole. 

Ch. 5: Beloved 

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" _–Don't it hurt?_

_ -Yes._

_ -Then why don't you cry?_

_ -What? _

_ -If it hurts, why don't you cry?"_

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She had been beautiful. 

     The first time he had seen Danijela, she was laughing. A quiet laugh, its apparent shyness was belied by the mischievous glint behind her eye— that delightfully subdued intensity that he came to know so well as her perpetual backdrop. He had recognized it immediately as her unruly curls flew out behind her or whipped across her face, catching the sun's bronze glow and scattering it in all directions. He had been nine years old, and he had loved her. 

     This had come as no surprise to Luka. Naturally, he loved her. She was his mother's _potica_ and the scent of the river, Christmas morning and his father's embrace. She was his summertime, and from that first frolicking encounter on the mud-soaked grass that flanked the Danube, Danijela looked to him as he had seen her that day. 

     He had never loved small. 

     When his children were born, he loved them as if he had done so all his life, as if they had been as much a part of that idyllic childhood summer as were the smoothed-down pebbles that they had skipped across the water that day, trying to see who could create the most splashes (Danijela had beat him; he had pretended not to care.) It was easy. It had always been easy. 

     Now, there was no _potica_, no Christmas morning. No Danijela. No Jasna. No Marko. Six-year-olds died under his care because of a careless driver's mistake. Nothing was easy; and still, Luka loved. 

     "You cheated."

     The accusing words broke Luka's reverie. Across from him, strands of dark hair fell across a furrowed brow and half concealed two dark eyes that were deliberately surveying the table in front of him. He followed Abby's gaze to the board that was placed between them.

     "No I didn't."

     "Yes you did—you cheated!" she repeated defiantly.

     Luka was amused. "Abby, no I didn't."

     "Then why is your horse—"

     "Knight." Luka interrupted.

     Abby was unfazed. "Why is it right there? You just _told_ me you can't jump over pieces."

     "You were trying to jump me with your pawn. Pawns can't jump; knights can."

     "Then give me back my horses."

     "_Knights._"

     "Give them back!"

     "No, Abby, your horses are dead. They can't play anymore."

     She scowled. "This game sucks."

     Luka laughed, and Abby watched silently as he gathered up the sizeable collection of black pieces that had been placed triumphantly beside him and put them away. 

     "Luka?" She wasn't really looking at him.

     "Yeah?"

     She paused, her contemplative pout accentuating the worried creases in her forehead. "What do you think went wrong?"

     Luka started. "What?"

     Her pensive stare broke, and she continued quickly. "Today… the little girl. The MVA."

     He frowned and shrugged his shoulders, standing up to clear their used glasses from the table and taking them to the kitchen. "Just… one of those things, I guess."

     Abby was persistent. "Yeah, but this was so easy, and we did everything right. The hemorrhage wasn't even that severe. She should've gone up to surgery and recovered."

     Luka could feel her stare following him relentlessly as he moved around the kitchen, so he turned around to face her and began to walk back to the table as she continued.

     "Things go wrong, I know that. They go wrong all the time, and that's just the way things are. But… this shouldn't have."

     He smiled gently and placed a loose arm around her shoulder. "At least we know there was nothing we could have done better."

     "I know _that_." Luka found himself half expecting a derisive "_duh"_ for emphasis. Instead, she finished quietly. "It still sucks though."

     "I know." 

     He leaned in to place a reassuring kiss on her temple. A moment later, it seemed, his lips were brushing hers. He pulled back, startled by his own unthinking and uncalculated advance. Startled, also, by how good it felt.

     Abby inhaled sharply. 

     It was hardly a kiss. A friendly peck at the corner of the mouth. Not even that…

     "Luka?"

     He had kissed her. 

     "Sorry…" he managed. He wished she would stop looking at him like that, wished he couldn't hear her nervous breath or see the conflict etched into every line of her face. She began to mouth a response but settled on a nod. 

     "I'm sorry." He repeated defensively. Abby straightened. Luka began to feel her silence weighing down on him. _She's not twelve years old; she doesn't have to act like she's afraid of me. _ It was too much. Annoyed, he escaped to the living room and turned on the TV. 

     Luka wasn't sure how long he waited until some movement came from behind him. He had begun to think that Abby had somehow escaped the apartment unnoticed when all at once she was there, sitting next to him, staring at her hands. Luka did not budge and stared fixedly at the TV screen, even when he heard her take a breath to speak. 

     "I'm an alcoholic."

     Her eyes were pleading. The television lost its appeal. "What?"

     He could almost see her wince, and she began to play with her hands again. 

"I've been sober… six years. I— I was sober when I was with you. But I, uh, I'm— a drunk."

     Abby finally looked over at him to check for a reaction. She didn't get one, so she continued. "I should've told you…"

     "I know." He knew? 

     Abby looked up, startled. "What?"

     Luka watched her muscles tense and her eyes flash violently before dying down to an unyielding opacity. He had to admit, although he'd never actually thought about it, he believed he _had_ known, in a way, why Abby never drank alcohol. Why she and…

    "_Carter _told you?" She hissed. 

     Luka flinched visibly at the name, and Abby's countenance softened. She looked away. "Listen," she began quietly. "He wasn't supposed to know either."

     He looked at her questioningly.

     "I didn't tell him; he— saw me at a meeting." 

     She looked ashamed. For a second, Luka wanted nothing but to reach out and hold her. That second passed, and he felt himself grow tense. 

     "You should have told _me_ though." He spoke quietly, but his voice shook. 

     "Huh. Thank you, Luka, I realize that. Which is why I just did."

     "A little late."

     Abby rolled her eyes. 

     "I'm glad to see how much you trusted me. That you felt you couldn't tell me this. Or maybe you just _wanted_ to keep me at bay?" He hadn't expected to get angry, but his voice was rising, and he couldn't control it. 

     "How dare you?" Luka could see her cheeks flush with anger. "You know, this is _not_ all my fault."

     "Isn't it?"

     "No, it isn't. Yeah, maybe I should have told you. But you know, you never bothered to ask—"

    "Oh, so now it's my responsibility to inquire about these things? You're being ridiculous, Abby."

     "—and never, not once, did you ever volunteer information to me."

     "What's that supposed to mean?"

     She was yelling now. "I don't know a thing about you, Luka! You accuse me of keeping you at bay when you've done a _damn_ good job of keeping me in the dark." 

     "Maybe you'd like it better if told you I was shooting up? Sorry to disappoint you, Abby."

     Her eyes were black ice. Her mouth twitched. She stood up. "Get out."

     Luka was incredulous. "_What_?"

     "GET OUT!"

     "It's my apartment!"

     He had never seen her this angry. Her mouth opened, then closed as she stared disbelievingly at him. She whirled around and almost ran towards the front door. 

     "Abby!" He grabbed her arm.

     "Don't touch me."

     He grabbed her other arm and made her face him. 

     "_No!_" Her voice was salty with tears; her eyes were dry. "You—let me _go_!" She pounded his chest, pushing him back towards the sofa, and he let go. 

     "Abby, I didn't mean that. I was— I'm angry, ok?"

     "I hate you." She glared at him, and he almost believed her.

     "Fine. Can you just come here so we can talk about this?" She turned to leave, and his voice rose again. "You're acting like a child! Can you just sit down?"

     "Fuck you."

     "Abby, SIT DOWN!"

     Her back remained to him for what seemed like forever. Finally, she turned around, her arms crossed in front of her. "So?" The monosyllable dripped with defiance as she uttered it. Luka watched in silence as she made her way back to the couch and sat, squeezing herself as close as possible to one end, arms still wrapped tightly around her body. Luka followed her and sat down on the opposite end. 

     "So why won't you tell me?" 

     And after a long pause, he did. He told her everything, starting with his mother's sugar beet garden and her love for wild orange lilies. He told her of his father's art and how, at age eight, he vowed never to let his brother beat him in math again. He described how Danijela's hair glowed bronze on the first day they met and on their wedding day, and he attempted to articulate what he knew he couldn't: how he had watched his children being brought into the world and then watched them— _let _them leave it. 

     It felt like a lifetime, and Luka was exhausted. He didn't look up as Abby rose, walked dazedly to the door, and shut it silently behind her.  He didn't move until its soft click registered belatedly in his consciousness. He wanted nothing but to sleep, and he still had dishes to do. 

******

     She couldn't remember having covered the distance from Luka's apartment to hers when she found herself at home with windblown hair, a lump in her throat, and the bite of Chicago's still-cold early spring nighttime lingering on her cheeks. Numbly, she found her way to the sofa and curled up on it, eyes wide open, staring at nothing. She'd known that he had lost his children. Why now did she feel that she was mourning them? She'd known that he loved his wife, so why did she suddenly feel as if she had as well? 

It was wrong. Everything was wrong. 

     Abby got up and walked into the kitchen. Standing in the middle of the tile floor, she looked around and realized that her surroundings seemed unfamiliar. It was as if something had broken, and she had no idea what it was or how to fix it. She reached for a glass and filled it with water. 

     A second later, it had shattered at her feet. 

     Wordlessly, Abby bent over to pick up one of the larger shards and took a moment to gaze at the dim light from the living room, softened as it passed through the thick glass. 

     She felt the pain before her mind registered the action and before she realized that the blood flowing from her wounded forearm had released a torrent of tears, bathing her face in an equally soothing warm wetness. The second and third cuts came more deliberately but with increasing violence, and by the time Abby flung the glass hard against the opposite wall, pools of blood had formed on the floor beneath her, creating vivid red swirls where it mixed with the water that was already there. 

     After what seemed like forever, Abby blinked and realized that she no longer felt as if it were all a bad dream. Slowly, her breathing returned to normal. Her arm throbbed mercilessly. She still mourned Marko and Jasna; she still loved Danijela. She knew exactly where she wanted to be. 

******

     The knock was urgent, and Luka hadn't really been asleep. It came again as he threw off his covers, rubbing his eyes and calling out a semi-coherent response. He shivered as he entered the living room, wishing he had remembered to pull on a sweatshirt before leaving his bedroom. When he opened the door, he had only a second to register her presence when, a sob, and all at once she was in his arms, fingers clinging shakily to the thin cotton of his t-shirt. Abby was crying

     Luka's first reaction was to hold her tighter, stroke her hair and shush her gently as he had when Jasna skinned a knee or had a nightmare. What he didn't expect was her hand on his cheek, tearful eyes looking straight into his. When they moved to the sofa, it was he who followed, he who laid his head on her shoulder and let her run soothing fingers through his hair. It was to her breath on his scalp and the rhythmic caress of her fingertips that, finally, he slept. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"This is it. Next would be her arm, her hand, a toe. Pieces of her would drop maybe one at a time, 

maybe all at once… she thought it was starting."

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	6. Shoot the Moon

Title: Better to Burn

Spoilers: Very general, more toward the end of S8 now. Consider this my AU version of an "Orion in the Sky" type thing.

Disclaimer: As usual, not that pretty, not that special. 

Reviews: Echhh… I feel bad even asking for them after this long. But they would make my day just that much brighter. 

A/N: Well, it's frivolous and it's rushed, but it's done. The sad thing is it took me 2 months to procrastinate on this and a little over 2 hours to sit down and write the stupid thing. Sorry, *blush* I took a little sabbatical from fandomland. I plagiarized certain parts of this from other chapters; it was intentional. 

Ch. 6: Shoot the Moon

     Luka shivered. 

     Harsh light streamed into his face, and he attempted to construct his surroundings without opening his eyes. He was lying on something that was not his bed; his neck was stiff, his legs cramped. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so comfortable. 

     The events of the previous night returned in a single rush, hitting him with a palpable force that both startled and excited him. He dragged his eyes open to find himself curled up on his living room sofa, his head resting heavily on Abby's lap. 

     Abby. 

     As Luka shifted and sat up, her hand slid from where it had been resting lightly on the side of his neck and landed at her side. He cringed at the position in which he found her- neck bent sideways at a painful-looking angle, head resting precariously between the back of the sofa and her shoulder, lips slightly parted. She barely stirred as he removed her coat and lowered her to the cushions, rearranging her sprawled limbs into a satisfactory huddle. 

     He almost didn't notice the soft bulkiness under her sleeve, but as he folded her arm neatly in front of her, the small white patch protruding at her wrist contrasted harshly with the black of her shirt, and Luka didn't think before reaching for her again. His eyebrows knitted at the first dark stain that mottled the badly applied dressing, and he pushed more impatiently at the black fabric that covered it. 

     Blood. Abby was bleeding.

     The first wave of panic that gripped him was irrational, and it subsided as Luka acknowledged it as such. Still, his hands shook as he lifted the gauze and winced. She was still, too still for his comfort now. And silent. He found himself desperately wanting her to wake up and talk to him—and desperately fearing that she would. 

     The almost imperceptible tensing of her body startled him so much that he recoiled with a sharp jerk of his head. It was too late. She stared at him evenly, chin set with defiance but expression obstinately unreadable. 

Luka's heart sank. So this is how it would be. "What happened?"

     Abby sat up abruptly and looked around her as if surprised and mildly perturbed at finding herself in the same place where she had fallen asleep the previous night.  "What time is it?"

     "Abby--" His tone was harsh; hers was harsher. 

     "Nothing, Luka. Just don't worry about it, ok?"

     He stared at her, indignant, but finally relented. "It's 8:30."

     Abby nodded, standing up resolutely and making for the door. "I gotta go—get to work," she explained hastily before pausing at the threshold to look back at him, taking a quick breath as if to speak, then stopping herself and offering only a rueful smile. "Bye, Luka."

The door swung shut behind her. 

*******

     The spinning in Abby's head became a steady pounding as she felt the distance between them solidify. Waking up in his living room—with him—it hadn't been a homecoming. 

Or rather, it had felt so much like one that she had immediately wished instead to feel unwelcome. So she had. She'd been lying; She wasn't scheduled to work until later that afternoon, and she knew he knew that. 

     Abby didn't like early Spring. Sure, she bitched about the cold—all winter long, in fact. But when it came down to it, the grey coldness of Chicago's winters was a comforting discomfort. Like an old sympathetic friend, she thought, just as jaded as you are and too pessimistic to counter any of your complaints. The first wave of clear, mild weather every year therefore seemed cast a hint of mocking on her and left her with a vague feeling of being exposed for scrutiny. 

     Today, the sky pale with sunlight and the faint smell of Spring in the dewy morning air filled her with such a profound sense of emptiness and regret that she almost didn't resist the longing to turn around and curl up once again on Luka's living room couch. By the time she was halfway to wherever it was she was going, however, she had amended that notion with a harsh reminder to herself of the trite puerility of such fantasies. She had quickened her pace bit by bit and was now marching with furious determination toward—she stopped abruptly as she realized that she had no idea where she was. Scanning her surroundings for a clue, Abby realized with no small annoyance that she was not, in fact, headed home, but to the hospital. 

Where she wasn't supposed to be for another three hours. 

Where she had told Luka she was going. 

Abby's stomach sank. Had she been living out her own lies for so long that she was actually starting to believe them? 

     She stood for a minute, incapacitated by the rage and indignation that was building inside her. 

     "GODDAMNIT!"

     A sound kick to the building beside her broke her inertia, and she stalked away in the direction of her apartment, fuming at herself, at Luka, at work, at the foul taste in her mouth and her wrinkled second-day clothing, at that stupid brick building and her now throbbing toe. Every last damned thing seemed to mock her and her entire screwed-up existence, and petulance constricted her throat when a part of her admitted that she probably deserved it. 

     She needed a shower and something to eat. She needed a cigarette. 

     She absolutely, under no circumstances, most certainly did _not_ need a drink. 

     Abby clenched her fists as if to bind herself to the decision and quickened her pace once again.

*******

     It was almost impossible to avoid Luka at work. Those occasional friendly exchanges in exam rooms and casual brushes in the hallway which had become more and more natural in the past months with their newly-found amity morphed into uncomfortable pauses and desperate dashes of avoidance in their newly-lost… what? Abby stubbornly ignored the fact that in fact she didn't know exactly why she was avoiding him; only determined that it was imperative that she did so. Try as she might, however, she found it impossible to dodge the seemingly endless momentary encounters. How the man managed to be anywhere she was at any given moment was beyond her, and Abby was highly unimpressed. 

     Which was why she found herself volunteering to take over Haleh's paperwork for the week—and demurely gaining permission to use Dr. Ansbaugh's currently unoccupied office for some peace and quiet while she did so. 

     For over an hour, Abby basked in the monotony of her paperwork and in the absence of patients, Weaver, Luka, and all other forms of disruption and inconvenience. 

     She was startled when a quick rap on the office door barely preceded the turning of the knob, and a tentative head poked itself into the room. A tentative, familiar head. 

     "Oh, uh… Abby." Mark Greene stood looking surprised and faintly embarrassed in the doorway. "I guess… Ansbaugh's not in?" 

     Abby shook her head. "We brought up a triple-A about two hours ago." 

     Dr. Greene nodded, began to make an uncertain exit, then thought better of it and took a step closer to the desk, offering an amiable smile. Gesturing to the papers that surrounded her, he questioned, "Weaver got herself a new nurse manager?"

    Abby scoffed. "Couldn't pay me enough," she quipped, then added, "I'm just helping out Haleh." 

     A twinkle formed in Mark's eye and he nodded exaggeratedly. "I see. What're you hiding from?"

     Abby's head shot up; she met his playful gaze nervously and half-chuckled, shaking her head "Nah, not hiding… the silence is nice though," she admitted and lowered her eyes again to the chart in front of her. "What brings you here?"

      "Just, ah, arranging some medical leave." His response was muted, and Abby checked herself. "Oh." She kept her head bowed to hide the flush of embarrassment she could now feel in her cheeks. The pause that followed was slightly awkward until Mark broke it, his tone casual and cheerful. 

     "You know, I was actually about to grab a bite to eat across the street then head home. You ready for a break and some coffee?"

     Abby raised an eyebrow in surprise, then warily eyed the papers that were strewn around her. 

     "My treat," Mark coaxed. "You can't hide up here forever." 

     Abby stood up and grinned. "I wasn't hiding," she assured him as she gathered up the mess she had made and allowed him to lead the way out of the office. 

*******

     "So, how have you been doing?" Dr. Greene's question came after the waitress had brought them each a coffee and he had ordered a chocolate milkshake and a double cheeseburger.

     "I'm fine, just a little tired. How are you?" Abby's answer was distracted as she stirred cream into her dink. 

     "Fine, just a little tired."

     The irony of his response was not lost to her, and she cringed inwardly, but his expression held a gentle, reassuring humour. Abby cursed herself. He hadn't asked for much; only meaningful human contact during some of the last days of his life. _Would it hurt me that much_, she thought, _to cut the bullshit for once? I doubt that's what he took me here for_.  

     "Actually, it's... Luka, I guess. He..." She trailed off and scrutinized her coffee. When she stole a quick glance across the table, however, she was pleased to see that Mark was doing the same, his casual expression practically unchanged by her admission as he awaited more. 

     She swallowed. "It's not Luka. It's me."

     At that he looked up, yet he didn't even raise an eyebrow when, after barely a hesitation, he responded, "You love him?"

     Abby's laugh was sharp and nervous. "Well, I don't think--" 

     "Come on Abby, I'm dying. Humour me."

     His grin was so incongruous with his circumstances that it made her want to scream, and yet it was she who felt as if she were missing something. Her breath caught in her throat. 

     "I think-- maybe I do," she almost whispered. Her eyes burned as she peeked up at him, wincing slightly as if finally divulging some dark, incriminating secret. 

     "Well, I can't say I'm not surprised," he began after a pause and leaned forward on his elbows.

     Abby managed a nervous simper. "That makes two of us."

     "But then again, maybe I shouldn't be." He seemed to consider something for a moment. "And he loves you back?"

     The question shook her even more than her previous admission already had. "I don't know," she managed. "I-- I think maybe he does."

     Mark only nodded. "Good." He went back to his coffee. 

     Abby wanted to argue with him, wanted to shake him and tell him that it wasn't 'good,' that love was anything BUT 'good.' That love was not only the most intensely painful, but also the most irrelevant, bothersome, and _insufficient_ of all human emotions. That it was never enough—at least Luka understood that, right? Love was simply never, ever enough. 

She wanted to explain all of this, but she couldn't. Not now, not to him.  

So she asked him about Ella. 

     Mark's eyes lit up and clouded over simultaneously as he spoke tenderly of his younger daughter, too young still to understand how miserable the world can be, of his elder, too stubborn to appreciate just how beautiful it really is, and of his wife, who had made his world what it was today. 

And of how much he loved them. 

     They exited the diner silently, and Mark turned to leave just before reaching the ambulance bay doors.  

     "Don't let 'em work you too hard." He winked at her. 

     "Thanks a lot, Dr. Greene."

     "Mark," he corrected her as he waved off her thanks. 

     "Mark." Abby smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow."

     He returned her smile. "Good luck, Abby."

     It was the last time she ever saw him.

*******

     His eyes burned, there was no more coffee in the lounge, and he was the only Attending on the board for another two hours. Luka pressed a thumb and forefinger to his eyes and leaned against his locker wearily for a moment before opening it to retrieve whatever sort of energy bar he may have stashed in there at some point. Something that was not food fell to the floor as he did so, and Luka barely glanced at it as he picked it up and shoved it back onto the shelf. When he brought his hand away, however, his attention was caught by his name printed in neat, capital letters across the front of the envelope, and he reached for it again, opening it to reveal a big-eared cartoon puppy carrying an oversized, heart-shaped "Get Well Soon" balloon. Inside the card, however, under a rhyming poem of well-wishing, he recognized a more familiar scrawl: 

                                    _It was all I could find at the gift shop._

_Sorry about this morning—had some thinking to do, but I shouldn't have run out like that. Have dinner with me tomorrow? My treat._

_I do want to talk to you. _

_                                                -Abby   _

     He knew she would be standing behind him even before he turned around. When he did, he found her trying hard not to appear too conscious of the fact that they were the only two people in the room. When she spoke, she sounded as hesitant as she looked. 

     "Sorry?" She offered. 

     Luka said nothing. 

     "Listen, I feel bad about leaving like that—"

     "You've been avoiding me all day," he broke in. 

     Abby began to shake her head, then gave up and shrugged. "Yeah, I know."

     "Is something wrong?" He persisted. "You've been so unpredictable lately."

     "I know," she repeated, and her voice shook slightly. "I've just been thinking… about things, and I want to make it up to you." She swallowed. "You don't have to come if you don't want, but—I think I at least owe it to you to explain myself."

     Abby waited expectantly until he answered, his voice soft and his tone ambiguous. 

     "What time tomorrow?"

     "8?"

     Luka nodded, and she took an uncertain step towards him, placing a hand lightly on his forearm. "So… still friends?" 

     He moved his other hand to cover hers, and Abby felt a rush of warm relief when she thought she caught a faint twinkle in his eyes. 

     "Of course."


	7. English Fire

Title: Better to Burn 

Disclaimer: Not pretty, not special, no money.

A/N: Well, well, seven chapters in almost as many months. Aren't I impressive? As usual, thank you so very much to all who have reviewed so far. This chapter was fun to write! The beginning quote and Chapter title are from another Bush song of the same name. I've determined that Gavin is a Luby.

Ch. 7: English Fire 

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Burn myself on your bed  
Your crown of thorns, my crown of lead  
I'll wake up before I drown  
I'll wake up…  
All my love, let's be free.

------------------------------------------------------------------

He arrived at dinner that night determined that this conversation would be exactly that. She wouldn't look away and he wouldn't back down, and it would hurt them both, but at the end of the night he would walk her home and she would roll her eyes; he would make a joke and she would laugh, and things would be a little closer to all right between them. He wanted things to be right.

War could make a nihilist out of the most assured of dispositions. Somehow it was easier to believe that there was no reason for such human tragedy than to think that somehow it was all part of a greater purpose. Because no matter how many Sunday Masses he had attended growing up, no reason could ever be good enough.

Pointless or not, however, there were things in life that he still cared about. And he did care about Abby. There was something to be said about that, Luka thought, but it wasn't enough, and he was beginning to feel tired of it. Caring, that is. Always in the background—constant and unchanging. The only things that changed were his circumstances, and to those he had listlessly resigned himself. So perhaps it should be enough just to care, to love in the abstract and have the rest fall into place, but it wasn't, and to Luka, admitting that to himself felt like a swift kick to the behind from a well-meaning older brother. Which was why, when he saw her from the entrance of the casual Chinese restaurant she had selected, nestled in a booth near the window with her hair still messy from the day's work, and the first thing he thought was how pretty she looked, he told her so.

"You look nice." He leaned across the table as he greeted her, causing her to start from the menu she had previously been engrossed in.

In the dim light he couldn't see her blush, but he thought it was there, and her eyes shone as they met his.

"Hey," she laughed nervously. "Yeah, me at my finest."

They ordered quickly, and Luka waited for her to speak next. She seemed anxious to do so.

"I didn't mean to run out on you yesterday."

"Then why did you?"

"I guess—because I wanted to stay."

She stared at her spoon as she stirred sugar into her green tea, and right then Luka began to understand. He pressed on nonetheless; she owed him, right? Damn straight she owed him.

"So why don't you? Why don't you ever just stay?"

Abby shrugged helplessly, began to reach for yet another sugar packet, then caught herself and put down the spoon. "That night, it was all about you. All I wanted was to take that—what you told me—to take it all away from you for a while. So you could rest. And then I woke up, and I was still there, with you, and—it became about me." She shook her head and scoffed. "All I saw was me, there, wanting to stay. So I left."

Luka nodded. "It happens a lot, doesn't it? Things become about you." He caught her eye. "Sorry."

"No, no. It's ok. You're right; I internalize too much. I can't help it- but then that's exactly where my problems start." She looked at first like she would continue but fell silent for a moment instead. "I'm sorry Luka. This isn't about me—not like that, and I know that. What I did was stupid, juvenile. But I care about you and I don't want us to be like that. I don't want to be like that anymore." She paused, pursing her lips, then added, "Thank you though, for telling me. I didn't deserve it, but… I'm glad you did."

It was more than an apology. As hurtful as it had been to see her turn her back on him, on everything, she had given back to him more of herself than she ever had before, and now suddenly it was he who felt grateful. If the abrasive edge of suffering could file down and deaden a soul to pain, Luka decided, then surely that same edge could sharpen it to whatever pleasure there was to be found, if any. This was pleasure, and the smile that had crept without his knowledge to his lips threatened to become a bit too wide. Abby watched him expectantly, and now he was fully aware of his grin. "You deserve it," he assured her, and watched as her expression began to match his.

The conversation stuck with him because it had been exactly that. And at the end of the night, he had walked her home and she had rolled her eyes; he had made a joke and she had laughed. He had left feeling mystified, excited, unsatisfied as usual, but it had been anything but usual. The faint aroma of blackberry perfume stayed with him long after he had left her at her front door; his skin still echoed the feathery brush of her lips against his cheek as he collapsed into bed.

--------------

"So you're still thinking about it?"

"Can't be chief resident forever. It feels like forever."

Carter continued as Abby picked up her fork, realized she had already finished her pie, hoped her pout wasn't too visible, and decided to continue her lament while staring out the window. Coffee and pie had been the highlight of her day so far, and she doubted it would get much better afterwards; that hypertensive old man in Three smelled.

Carter noticed her inattention and joined her in watching the rain pelt in solid sheets against the glass next to them.

"Think it'll ever stop?" She asked.

"Next weekend. It's supposed to be nice. Hey, that's reminds me, I'm having some people over Saturday. The outdoor pool's open; you should come."

"Thanks. I don't think I can though; I have a thing."

"A thing?" She nodded. "Hot date?"

"You know it."

" So what are you doing?"

"Just this thing I need to do that day."

"Now I'm curious."

Abby ducked her head and began to laugh. "I'm uh, going to the zoo."

"The zoo."

"Yep."

"With whom?"

"Um, Luka."

She wondered if it were possible for Carter's eyebrows to disappear past his hairline. "I—I didn't know you two were, ah…"

"Speaking?"

"Dating," he finished.

Abby shook her head firmly. "We're not."

He stared at her. "The Lincoln Park Zoo?"

Abby rolled her eyes. "Well, I've never been."

"It's just like any other zoo."

"No, I mean I've never been to any other zoo."

"Never?"

She shook her head and grinned. "Not even in third grade when I got the biology award and decided to become a zoologist."

"Yeah, well, medicine's overrated," Cater smirked and began to relax, then caught her eye again. "Maggie?"

Abby nodded.

"How's she doing lately?"

"Fine. I think I'm gonna go see her soon."

Carter again looked surprised. "That'd be really good."

"I think so. I mean, she's my mom, right? If I'm there putting up with her, at least I am putting up with her and not hiding, pretending she never happened to me."

He looked genuinely pleased as he smiled across the table at her. "Good for you."

-----------

It felt good to drive. Not to be bumped from traffic light to traffic light on the way to work, silently cursing the idiots that made the hell of city driving at rush hour even worse, but just to drive. The kind of driving where right in the middle you realize that just for a while, where you came from and where you're going to don't matter as much as the miles that keep fading into the distance behind you over time that temporarily loses its usual definition and becomes meditative and uninterrupted. Funny how sometimes change can bring the greatest peace and consistency the most turmoil.

Luka stole a glance at the passenger beside him. Abby was slumped down, curled up, and her feet were on his dashboard. He liked it. It was the last place he would have expected to be—somewhere in the middle of Wisconsin and looking forward to three vacation days' worth of Maggie Wyczenski, and he doubted that Abby had originally planned on company either.

It had been unexpected. He had joined her quietly in the ambulance bay that day and watched as the very obviously unsmoked cigarette burned steadily away between her fingers. _"Jasna loved ice cream," _he had said, finally. _"I'd buy it for her when we went to the movies, but she'd get so carried away with the film that it never got eaten and always melted away into her hand."_

It was getting easier to do that, to tell her. The little things, and only happy snippets of memory, the easy ones; he hadn't mentioned Danijela since that night. Abby had turned to him then, and that's how it happened.

_"Do you ever think of going back?"_

_"All the time."_

_"But you're still here."_

_"I'm still here."_

_"Every place has its ghosts, Luka."_

_"But I'm still here."_

_"Would you come with me? To Minnesota?"_

They had left the next morning, after very clear instructions from Abby to pick her up before noon. He had become suspicious then and wondered aloud if she weren't only using him for his Viper, to which she had promptly replied, "of course," and that was that.

"You want me to drive?" Abby was now looking at him as if she had just made him breakfast in bed, but her ironic half-smile was too obvious. Luka laughed.

"I'll be fine, thanks."

"Oh, come on."

"Maybe later."

"Luka."

"Abby."

"You're no fun." But she left it at that, and Luka went on driving, thinking, wondering what sort of world he was soon to be introduced to. It was scary in a way, and he knew that he wasn't the only one who felt that way. Abby, he could tell, was trying very hard to make him believe that this wasn't a big deal to her, but they both knew she wasn't fooling anyone. It was strange to think that for so long, all he had known of her were those qualities that she had managed give of herself on her own terms. He used to believe that they were similar in how they handled pain and their pasts; he was beginning to understand now that they couldn't be much more different. While he resigned to repressing what he could, being tortured by what he couldn't, Abby's mind seemed so organic that her reality could become whatever she needed it to be at the moment. This, however, only worked on her terms, and as soon as she met with circumstances that did not coincide with the ebb and flow of her world, she clashed violently with whatever or whomever she found in her way. Abby was not on her way home; she was entering unfamiliar territory, fully aware that should things get messy, she would not be the one in control, and she was allowing him along as a witness. Luka wondered if many people would understand as fully as he did the magnitude of the gesture. Something occurred to him.

"What did Maggie say about me coming?"

Abby glanced at him quickly before turning back to the road ahead of them. "She didn't. I didn't tell her."

"What? Abby…"

"What?"

"You didn't tell her?"

"Hey, it's not like she hasn't paid me any unexpected visits. She knows I'm coming; I'm just bringing a friend. She has the room."

Luka shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Relax, Luka. She loves playing hostess anyway. She'll be thrilled, I promise."

Abby kept her promise. Her mother was already outside waiting when they pulled up, and Luka watched the initial expression of excitement on Maggie's face turn to one of shock, then just as instantly melt into delight as she embraced him even before she reached for Abby, giving her daughter a very conspicuous look of mock admonishment.

The rest of the evening went well; Maggie insisted on preparing dinner and on doing so without Abby's repeated offers to help, instructing her instead to "give Luka the tour."

There wasn't much to tour, but after the usual household highlights, bathrooms, kitchen, and bedrooms, Abby took Luka around the neighbourhood, obligingly pointing out three gardens, a bank, and an Arby's before plopping down on a swing in a playground at the end of the block.

"This is where you grew up?" Luka asked, for some reason feeling a bit overwhelmed as he watched Abby rotate her swing to twist up the chains.

"Huh? Oh, God, no. Maggie moved to Minneapolis after Eric moved out." She stopped rotating and let go, flying in a dizzying whirl as the chains unwound. Luka nodded. "Actually I've only been here a couple times. She was in Florida for a while, then came back; mostly I did my best to dodge her invitations."

"So why now?"

"Time for a change I guess. I started to think if I stopped trying to run away from what's good about my mom, maybe the bad won't be so horrible. Which, it is, but…"

"You grew up with it, though."

Abby shrugged. "Your perspective changes from 13 to 30. Hungry yet?" Luka nodded, and Abby rose from the swing. "Let's go."

-----------

Maggie had that grin on her face. The one Abby had always hated. The one that seemed to start at the corners of her scrunched-up eyes and travel down to her mouth, which inevitably dragged her shoulders up with it. The result was a very strong resemblance of an excited 7-year-old, and Abby always thought it looked as if every single cell in her mother's body was on the brink of bursting forth with some explosive energy. The problem was, a lot of the time she was right. Abby smiled.

"Hey, Mom."

Still grinning, Maggie sat down on the bed next to her daughter and stared. Abby rolled her eyes. "Are you going to talk or just sit there looking at me like that?"

"Where's Luka?"

"It's almost midnight. He's in bed."

"Oh, he can't be tired already. It's your last night; we should do something!"

"Mmm, what would you suggest?"

"I've got board games."

"Yeah, I don't think Monopoly is the best idea the night before a long car trip."

Maggie was unfazed. So was her grin.

"Mom, _what_?"

"So what did he have to do?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"To win you back. What was it, flowers?" Abby began to laugh. " Love letters? Expensive jewelry?"

"We're not dating."

"Oh come on, Abby. There has to be a reason you brought him here."

"Yeah…" Abby sighed, brought her hand to her forehead and rubbed it anxiously. "It's—it's complicated."

"It's always complicated. That's what makes it fun!"

"Well, with Luka it isn't _fun _complicated; it's _complicated _complicated."

"There must be something, if you're still in love with him."

Abby glanced incredulously at her mother. "What is with you people? When did I ever say I was in love with him?" It irritated her even more when, instead of backing down, Maggie proceeded to laugh in her face.

"_Say_? Sweetheart, you look like a little girl who's lost her puppy every time he says goodnight to us. I keep wanting to yell at you that a little goodnight kiss really never killed anyone!"

"You'd be surprised," Abby snorted. She was, quite frankly, over this conversation, and she made a conscious effort not to hear the rest of what her mother had to say as she sulked. She was beginning to feel hot, cramped, and exposed. She needed fresh air. "I'm going for a walk," she announced, cutting Maggie off mid-sentence.

Maggie looked surprised but did not protest as Abby stood abruptly, threw on her clothes, and stalked down the hallway, nearly colliding with a bleary-eyed Luka as he came out of his bedroom.

"Something wrong?" He asked Maggie after they had heard the front door slam.

The older woman shrugged. "I think she'll be fine.

-----------

He found her in the playground where they had gone the first night, pushing herself idly back and forth in the same swing she had occupied before.

"Hey."

Abby looked up in acknowledgement as he seated himself awkwardly in the swing beside her. "Looks like rain," she greeted him, leaning back to stare at the street lamp above, its bulb haloed by a thin, wet mist.

"I talked to your mother."

At this Abby laughed sarcastically. "Yeah, so did I." Shaking her head, she added, "She thinks we're dating."

"You say it like it's a bad thing."

"Come on, Luka. We both know how that goes."

"Great sex and long walks on the beach?"

"Ha. Great sex and a hell of at time avoiding intimacy. Trying to convince ourselves it's better that way."

"We've both changed since then."  
She stared at him, and Luka was sure it was regret he saw before she turned away and got up. "Maybe not so much."

He followed her as she began to pace along the fence that separated the playground from the street. A steady drizzle of rain began to fall, unacknowledged by either of them. "You still believe it, don't you?" She shot him a look of annoyance. "That I'm married to a ghost. It still bothers you, doesn't it?"

Abby looked away. "It's not like that," she sighed, sliding her back down the fence to sit on the gravel, head buried between her knees.

Luka continued quickly. "You're right though, in a way. You get attached to these things—suffering, the past. You are too." At this she looked up. "But sooner or later you need to let that go. Ask for a divorce." He smiled. "You did it; you came here."

"Luka…" She broke in quietly, shaking her head. "It's not the same."

"I lost my family; you lost your childhood. Nothing will ever replace those things, but that doesn't mean we can't find something once in a while." Abby looked dubious. "What I'm trying to say we both have our pasts, but those don't have to be erased for us to move on… That night you stayed at my place, remember? You said afterwards that you wanted to take it all away from me. I think in one way or another that's all you've ever been trying to do. I know you mean well, but when I lose a patient, all I ever want to do is go up to the family and tell them everything's going to be fine. That their loved one will be better in no time and that they can walk out of the hospital, happy, like nothing ever happened. But it's wrong, and trying to pretend will only make it worse. I don't want it taken away from me, Abby. And I don't want you to help me forget, but that doesn't mean I don't want you." He offered her his hand. "You're better than a ghost."

Abby stared at him. The rain had begun to get the best of her flimsy coat, chilling her as it saturated her top and clung to the skin underneath. It stung, the cold piercing her like needles along her body, and she suddenly began to feel the path of each drop that slid down her back to soak the top of her jeans. Her awareness was peaked, acute, as if still bristled from some unnamed threat. Edges grew sharper, more distinct, sensations biting.

The desire was biting.

It was the one sensation, in fact, that consumed her. While the noisy splashes of raindrops separated themselves from the nighttime hum of the city, from her own heavy breathing and the blood that rushed past her temples and pounded at her eardrums, from the wind that sliced, howling, through the drenched air around her, desire was everywhere.

His hand was still outstretched in front of her, and in that moment she thought that she knew, finally, how it felt to unglue herself from the perimeter of her own life and take that first tentative step into an existence that was both exhilarating and sadly unfamiliar. It was like stepping to the edge of a cliff; she had stood with her back to it for so long, fearing a push from behind that would send her tumbling, she had forgotten there was such a view. Gazing at it now, Abby knew that it was hers to claim. She also knew that if she were to tumble off the edge this time, it would be she who would take the last step.

She wanted nothing more than to take his hand.

Her eyes met his for a moment as he brought her to her feet, and it struck her that the bewildered relief she saw there must mirror her own. Neither of them smiled as they turned to leave the playground; neither of them let go. Abby didn't know that it would work this time, but she knew that this time she wanted it to. Somehow, that was more than enough.

-----------

A/N: It's finished! Thanks so much for reading. So, epilogue or no?


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